What's Your Price?
by Just-LiveLaughLove
Summary: "There is a war coming, my old friend. And it's going to spread like wildfire." Klaus and Deucalion


**What's your price?  
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It's the night of the blood red moon – go run, _hide_.

Creatures' prowl in the darkness; feasting on the living, howling to the dead.

This is not the night to be out, my friend. So go on, run on home – bolt your doors.

This is just the beginning.

* * *

She materializes out of nowhere, but he smelt her long before she stepped into the light, amidst all the chaos in this old ratty abandoned mall. It's a rather entertaining performance, she'll grant with no regret. A clan of teenagers, their smell of fear and sex and hope pressing on her lungs as she watches their gallantry – their stupidity – draw them closer to death, who waits on the escalators with a walking cane hanging in his deft fingers.

_What is it they fight for? Honor? A sense of nauseating morality?_

_For the sake of the constant war between the purifying good and tantalizing evil?_

She sees now, why both of her men may enjoy it… why they constantly craft these fearful circumstances. Perhaps Deucalion gets off on the struggle that this young boy – with golden eyes and dark hair – entails when placed in situations that must warrant a life.

One of the members from the excruciatingly painful clan that labels themselves good, (just like high school social groups), has his life falling out of focus, just one last tug –

"Don't you see, Scott, in order to save your friend, you must offer death a replacement," Deucalion rolls his shoulders back and turns slightly as he continues, "wouldn't you agree, Dovev?"

Just now, do the others sniff her out, but none of them question her. Especially not the Alpha's pack, after all, their master has spoken.

"It's been some time now. How have you been, Dovev?"

The girl slips her hands into her pockets, none too earnest when she answers – voice smoky.

"Perhaps we can leave the formalities for a more suitable time. Possibly when you are not terrorising youths?"

Kali steps forward now, growling low with werewolf teeth bared. Deucalion holds out a hand, halting her movement.

"Let me rephrase." Dovev begins, "Perhaps the formalities should be reserved for a later date as you have a pressing appointment that cannot be overlooked."

"Do I now?"

She nods, both now completely aware of _whom_ they speak.

"We wouldn't want to keep Klaus waiting now, would we?"

* * *

The tongues of fire reflect off golden hair that curls like ancient runes, skin glowing with a touch of red _(not like blood, not just yet)_ as he leans against the mantle. Watching everything in the belly of the flames. Stories that may have been scribbled into the side of your text books. Histories that were never recorded unfurl like a fairytale.

Except these are no fairy tales, these are memories, wars that he relished. Wars that were intended solely for him and still, he has yet to be touched.

He's walked through the ages, set fire in the storms that have roared his name. He brought hell with him on a leash.

"Deucalion." The vampire, the _original _vampire, doesn't turn around yet. Even with his guest lingering in the door way with a fierce heat that almost overthrows the fire he stands by. Just like he remembers_. Such rage. Such desire for malevolence._

"You requested to see me." Deucalion speaks up, taking a seat in Klaus' desk chair. _  
_  
Don't be fooled, what Klaus says next is not an offer, no friendly request. "How about you join me for a drink."

They're two twisters – charging forward – drawing nearer. Like a magnetic pull that lures two evils, leaving chaos in their wake. Satin has come home to Hades; the world doesn't have much time.

It just may explode.

And there they will stand, amongst the wreckage with tendons beneath their nails and blood warming their mouths.

* * *

"I hear you've been causing trouble in a small town. Wreaking havoc, taking pleasure in the kill. Nothing less than what I would expect from you, I'm sure."  
The blind alpha ignores the golden vampire sitting beside him. He tries to separate himself from the arrogance that hums off of the ageless being – an arrogance that is born from power; a power obtained only over the years of existence lived.

"I'm a man of far more vision than simple murder." Deucalion answers, tilting his head towards his host. "Well that is a crying shame." Klaus – the man whose story lingers in the shadows like a phantom nightmare – speaks into his cup wearing a small smile, "the details of murder are the best part after all."

Deucalion doesn't disagree (it'd be a lie if he tried), instead he takes a slow sip of whiskey, "you're not wrong. Though, I am far more interested in the nature of your visit, Klaus."  
"Come now Deucalion," Klaus drawls, setting a vial of blood by the demon-wolfs hand, "have I ever come to you with anything short of remarkable?"

* * *

"Last I saw of you Klaus, you were on the run – tail between your legs and the entire charade that comes along with fleeing daddy dearest."  
"That old runt of a man?" The blind wolf nods, unaffected when the vampire responds, "He's dead. I recently incinerated him."

"Good riddance." Deucalion concedes, scraping the scruff at his chin, "I have to admit, killing your own father – your own blood. Seems rather scandalous."  
Klaus' emerald eyes darken, and though the alpha cannot see it, he can feel the storm brewing beneath the surface. Thou shalt never insult an amoral man of pride.

Let alone a god.

And considering the two of them sit amongst a crowd of mere humans, they could be the undoing of life itself. The bringers of the apocalypse: with just the flick of their wrists and the slur of their words.

"Is it really so different than killing your own pack?" Klaus counteracts.  
Deucalion's expression shifts, only slightly, (anyone else watching would have missed its transformation). But Klaus isn't just anyone.

"Oh yes, Deucalion. I am well aware of your recent… activities. The massacre of your own pack in order to absorb their very essence, _their power_."  
The ageless being leans back, raising inquisitive eyebrows, "But, I'll give credit where credit is due. It's a rather ostentatious robbery of intricate power. An intriguing method."

"How are your _siblings_? Lying in a coffin?" Deucalion retorts, canting his head. "Not exactly as honorable as you claim it to be. They are blood after all – what is it you say… _family above all_?"

The chuckle that emanates from Klaus' chest is formidably delightful. "Unfortunately mate; you're mistaken in your assumption that it's the same thing. When you wipe your hands clean of blood– my family simply sleeps with daggers in their hearts."

Like a lazy tide that pulls away from the shore, Klaus japes, "I like to think it's having a relationship with death, just, without the commitment."

Deucalion – leaning forward on his walking stick – now pushes back and lounges in his stool, his throne. This revelation is no thing to despair of. No, this is something he _thrives_ on.

He's never cared for armor – it bends too easily, it's too pliable even under a human's touch. He _wants_ you to see him. Witness a blade cut through him, but see how it's the blade that falls. Shattering upon the floor, desolated beneath his feet where your very life lingers as his wound stitches itself clean.

Try catching him – try hurting him. I _dare_ you.

"How long have you known?"

"A few moons ago. You know how I am with covering my tracks. I've had someone escorting you through thin and thick. Just, slightly undetectable – if they failed, they'd have their hearts ripped clean from their chests."Klaus pours them both another drink. "Unless of course – "

Deucalion interrupts without reservation, " –I got to them first." He gives a grin now that's all fangs and no teeth, "your little minions aren't as discrete as you may believe. They have a certain _scent._" He lets the word roll over his tongue, tastes the distinct flavour that lathers their primal enemies – vampires.

"Not all," Klaus hums, his blood red lips tilting upward, as he points through the crowd to the girl with hair like burning lava and eyes like deep cut jades. Taking the crown when he hears the very subtle skip in the rhythm of Deucalion's heart beat upon hearing her laughter. "Otherwise, you would have sniffed her out from day dot."

Deucalion forgets sometimes, Klaus is the only one who's sunk his own claws into the untouchable wolf.  
He's the stallion that races through fields of war, but Klaus' eagle is always that shadow ahead – always out of reach.

_Try catch me, Deucalion. I dare you._

* * *

"So simple in their naïve little world isn't it? Good and evil, so painstakingly black and white." Klaus laments, while Deucalion regains his soulless demeanour – heedless of her presence.

"Are you proposing that you are not evil, Klaus?" Deucalion asks, incredulous.

"Of course not," Klaus reassures, "However, people and monsters alike, all share one thing in common."

Deucalion completes the thought, (because like all creatures, his limits have been tested) "A righteous belief that they _can_ and _will_ do anything to protect the things they care for."

"It's the common factor." Klaus continues conversationally. "And surely you recall what you were willing to give."

They both look back to her, the very reason why neither have torn the others heart out. _Yet._

"You decided her fate, mate." Klaus drawls, "Requested it of me, actually."

Deucalion doesn't say anything. Considering there isn't much to say about it anymore. Instead he solicits, words heavy with demand, "It's best you explain this –" he flicks the vial – "to me. Otherwise, I'm leaving."

* * *

Anyone observing these men would believe them to be nothing more than just that; two men.  
One blind – deceitfully vulnerable – and the other to be a patient friend. Neither aware of the time ticking by, passing into obscurity.

_Oh, how illusory – how perfidiously innocent._

If only they knew what this blind man _sees_, what this blind man thirsts for. What claws lay beneath fingers that can caress and tremble with alluring fragility. Before latching, and tearing skin from skin, bone from bone – licking the blood clean from his fingers and with such gleeful vigour.

The eternally youthful man, sitting by him, comfortably shrouded by an air of superiority (that one might mistake for kindness) is one of the _many _thingsthat ensnares his victims. He's a man of corruptible power that needs not reveal the claws that sit beneath his long slim fingers.  
He's charming and cunning and while he kisses with delicate human teeth, you'll have no time to scream as he sinks venomous fangs into the sweet crook of your neck – drinking and drinking, until the once dependable _thump thump thump _of your heart fades into noiselessness.

Because it will all be a blur when it comes to you and these _beasts_… one moment they're sharing your bed and the next… they're laying you in an unmarked grave.

* * *

Klaus' fingers pinch the rim of the vial and set it upright once more.

"There is a war coming, my old friend. And it's going to spread like wildfire."  
"My my, Klaus. Seems to me you are in a state of fright – something more evil than the big bad vampire coming for you?"  
"Wolf." Klaus corrects with a patronising smirk, deliberately retaining the label of destruction Deucalion once prospered. (Perhaps he still does, in the world of those who are oblivious to the _true _evil that is sitting right by his side).

Deucalion gives a tight smile, "if you recall, that was a title once reserved for me."  
"Until of course, I came and claimed it as my own." Klaus answers smoothly – like velvet stroked in darkness. "After all, I am a hybrid."  
Klaus sets his drink down with a resounding clink, murmuring, "Which brings me to the matter at hand."  
"So the warning of the primeval lurking at bay, was not the reason why you requested my presence?" Deucalion mocks, drumming his finger against the wooden bar top.

Klaus fiddles with a toothpick, etching its point into the bars surface before speaking. "Look at you, the alpha of alphas. The apex of apex predators."  
Deucalion rarely indulges in Klaus' condescending words of esteem and folds his cane three times before setting it on the bar, right beside Klaus' forgotten toothpick.

"I'm so much more than the man you saw two years ago, Klaus. So, forgive me for the promptness in my question, but _why_ am I here?"

"How would you like to tear down buildings?"

Rather perplexed, Deucalion answers slickly, "I can."

"How would you like to have complete and utter control?"

"I'm in the process of it now." The werewolf explains, "Fairly certain I can manage."  
He can smell the tart edge of Klaus' frustration intensifying.

There's a short moment that sits between them – it's heavy and thick with a gluttonous desire to conquer the other. To attain a level none can reach, it's electric – they're toxic.

"Hello mate," Klaus' voice is directed to the bartender, "I'm going to need you to ask everyone to leave. You're closing early you see."

The male's voice is flat – monotonous in his one worded answer, "sure."  
The hybrids' eyes watch Deucalion listen to the scraping of metal on tiles and the pattering of feet exit the venue until there is nothing left but silence.

"Oh, not you mate." The creature of night catches the arm of the newly compelled human. "I'm rather bored you see. How about you get a knife and drive it through your heart?"

There is no elevation of heartbeat, but the distinct splitting of skin and snapping of bone underneath the pressure of a blade, entices the animal within this blind man. The aroma of blood stirs a hunger from both of these predators.

Once the weight of a lifeless body hits the floor, Deucalion fixes his glasses, a hint of approbation when he says, "well… that was intriguing."

"The perks of living forever are most certainly tempting, wouldn't you say?"

"So, is this what you're offering me? Immortality?"

"Not only immortality," Klaus disagrees, offended, "indestructibility. Immense power, and in conjunction with your previous conquest, just _imagine_ what you will be capable of."

The Alpha tries to reject the memory of her dead rebirth, Klaus however, uses it; "It will be the same offer that I gave you for her salvation."

"But…" Deucalion mutters slightly mystified, "you were unable to do it before. I had asked."

Klaus leans an elbow on the bar top and elucidates, "Circumstances have changed. I now attain the ability to create werewolves in my image."

"What you're offering…" The blind wolf breathes, "Certainly comes at a price."

"Allegiance."

"I bow to _no_ _one_."

"We have a common enemy." Klaus' voice is even, "Therefore I see a mutual denominator. You help me extinguish what has been revolting against me and you have a hand at immortality."

Deucalion licks his lips, a smile splitting his face – a sudden surge of defiance – as he murmurs, "What makes you think I wouldn't turn on you? As you said, I am no ordinary wolf. That makes me your greatest asset or your greatest liability."

Klaus smiles, eyes flashing yellow, and whispers, "what's life without a gamble."

With nothing left to say, Klaus stands and eases himself into his jacket, fitting the vial of blood into his pocket. "Don't take too long in your decision, Deucalion."

Deucalion's fingers trace over the icon Klaus engraved into the wood, unable to contain his laughter when he realizes it's the mark representing a packs promise for vendetta.

"And how long do I have?"

Like a joke reserved for those who are slaves to natures calling, Klaus informs pleasantly, "Next full moon."

* * *

It's the night of the 'Blood Red Moon' when Deucalion walks home. It's the howling of those prowling in darkness that he hears when he steps into his pent house that has been pulled apart. In a complete state of obliteration.

He can sense the struggle, can smell spilt blood decorating the walls and staining his Egyptian rug.  
But it's amongst the carnage of his pack laying in mangled pieces, that _her_ scent infiltrates his senses.

She stands with crimson lines painted on her skin like a primal war tale – she smells of honey and reeks of _the_ hybrid. She can hear his thoughts, yet she ignores them and wordlessly hands Deucalion a note.

It reads.

_I do offer my condolences for your loss, but as you are well aware, I couldn't allow for anymore potential forces to rebel against me. Apologies, for the collateral damage, but I found an opportune moment to eliminate any and all further threats._

Deucalion kicks his beta's hand away from his Italian shoes and cannot help but smile at what comes next,  
_  
Best be making your decision quick, old friend.  
_  
_After all, this is only the beginning._

**TBC**

* * *

**Hello! I think it's easy to say that these guys make me question my morals. But, I won't apologize for it. I'm considering continuing this (possibly a 3-shot) Depending if people want it :)  
I hope you enjoy and to all my fellow Vampire Diaries/The Originals fans, hold in there, we're closer to the upcoming seasons!**


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